


I sing to you

by magpie_03



Series: Down the mountain range of my left-side brain [12]
Category: Twenty One Pilots
Genre: Angst, Autistic!Tyler, Caring Josh Dun, Chronic Illness, Depression, Disability, Epilepsy, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, If you look closely, M/M, Refractory Epilepsy, Seizures, Sickfic, internalized ableism, joshler - Freeform, status epilepticus
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-18
Updated: 2018-12-18
Packaged: 2019-09-15 21:25:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,241
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16941006
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/magpie_03/pseuds/magpie_03
Summary: Tyler decides to play music again and is confronted with his memories - those he wants to keep and those he'd like to forget.





	I sing to you

Tyler leans across his piano

He's breathing life back into his art

To bring a part of himself back into this world, a part he tried to forget

A part he tried to kill with the rest of his life

A part of himself that's still alive, that survived with the rest of this body

 

He will release it back into the world, a part of himself that will live on, carry on when the rest of him can't

That's the only way he can imagine being alive right now

As a melody inside someone's ear

Something to sing along to

 

He'll sing to Josh

He pictures Josh

When they first met 

The smell of the record store

Like books, only better

When he moved into Josh's apartment and he brought his piano with him

He brought his life, too, his body

It fit barely into the space but they managed

They fit their lives around their music and Tyler's illness

Feeling like they had finally found each other in the universe

 

He pictures their apartment, their space

The echo of Josh as he returns from work, his footsteps, his voice

Post-it notes with smudy handwriting, a coffee cup that's been forgotten

Josh's drum kit in the back of the apartment, next to his piano

It reminds him he's still part of the world, still part of something real

Still part of something that feels easy and natural

Proving that he's part of this space, too

 

He wants to forget that it's not just him who feels disconnected from people outside

It's also other people who don't know how to talk to him anymore

This sickness doesn't fit into small talk

When his parents have visitors over and Tyler comes to see them the room goes silent

 

He wants to forget that if people want to be honest, they look at him with worried eyes

Like his mother does

Eyes that tell him how exhausted he looks, the dark circles under his eyes that can't be hidden

He wants to forget than when they want to polite they say nothing, they just look

And turn away

 

He wants to forget what it feels like when you are your only friend

When you call acquaintances friends because it feels better

Less lonely

More human

 

He wants to forget the bad day he had during his last appointment at the epilepsy clinic

He disappeared inside himself as soon as they entered the hospital

This was a new doctor, one he didn't know and he panicked, a short-circuit of fear inside his brain

He didn't make eye contact, refused to shake the doctor's hand

 

He wants to forget that he just sat here, hands hidden deep inside the sleeves of his hoodie

He wore his yellow hoodie and a bright orange beanie to bring some color to this space

He never liked pale hospital walls, the memories they bring back

 _Fear fear fear_ these walls wisper

And as soon as the doctor closed the door

He felt the color drain from his body

 

He wants to forget the doctor's words as he reviewed his case

_Refractory epilepsy, resistant to treatment_

Tyler wants to forget the look on the doctor's face

The words don't fit, they don't feel right

And neither does this life

 

He just sat here and the words started to flow over his head, with no meaning at all as Josh and the neurologist argued back and forth

 _Traumatized_ Josh said

His body, a gaping wound

 

He wants to forget that the started to scratch his wrists as soon as the new doctor suggested a new medication 

The doctor still believed in anticonvulsants because he doesn't know what the word _refractory_ _epilepsy_ really means

Not yet

Tyler scratched his wrists until Josh took his hands and shook his head at the doctor

He doesn't want a new medication, can't you see it, the glare in Josh's eyes said

We can't stomach a new one, not again

For you it's just a new name in his file but for him it's weeks and months of suffering

His seizures spiral out of control everytime we change his medications and we can't face 5 seizures a week again

Can't face another drug that will make him psychotic again, one that will make him want to kill himself

They both could see that the doctor wrote him off

Non-compliant

 

He wants to forget the doctor's voice as he started to rock back and forth

A grounding technique, the only thing that keeps him in his body when things become overwhelming

 _Is he autistic_ the doctor asked brusquely

Josh's body became tense, he could feel it as Josh's hand rested on his back

He's overwhelmed, Josh defended him

 _Overwhelmed_ the doctor repeated

Tyler knew he didn't believe him

 

He wants to forget that the doctor spoke to Josh and not to him

 _I am his primary caregiver_ Josh responded with a little more force than neccessary when the doctor suggested a caregiver in addition to the social worker Tyler already has

It made him smile, the determination in Josh's voice

The commitment

He remembers the fights Josh had with nurses in hospitals who didn't know Tyler's body the way Josh does

Who were quick to label him with words he didn't understand

 

 _Primary caregiver_ , a medical phase, technical, clinical

Not enough to describe the relationship he has with Josh

The relationship that makes them stay together, stick together, survive

And still contain love  
 

He wants to remember that there is a way to exist outside of doctor's offices, statistics, and hospitals

But his epilepsy tags along, hiding in the back of his mind, the brink of his brain, the backbone of his self

He can feel the vertebrae crack everytime he goes to the dark places inside himself

He knows that a few years ago he'd been horrified having 5 seizures a month and calling it a "good phase" because the situation escalates so quickly

He'd been horrified seeing himself like this, uncoordinated, clumsy, his speech slurred and slow

 

He sees his siblings grow up

He feels like a bystander instead of a big brother

A child, relegated to the back of a car his younger brother drives because he wants to exercise his learner's permit as much as possible

The chasm opening up

Between the real world and the sick world, two universes that are never parallel to each other, not really

He can see people his age worrying about graduating college and finding the right job or any kind of job

About marrying or buying property, a house

While he's still trying to carve a place for himself in this world

Digging a hole into the frozen ground with his bare hands

There's blood on his knuckles, sweat mixes with the tears on his face

The world rejects his body but his body refuses to let go

 

After the last prolonged status epilepticus his body forsake him

He couldn't drink out of a glass without pouring water all over his chin

And Josh got a tumbler for him, with a straw and a lid

It looked pretty, picturesque, like the things people put on instagram

He could almost picture himself with it when he's well again, smiling into the camera (and Josh smiling, too)

No one needs to know the dark reality underneath it

Of your body forgetting things, of having to relearn what people take for granted

Drinking from a glass, holding a spoon, wiping your butt

If your life is a story that unfolds before your eyes

His body is an unreliable narrator

 

He doesn't even remember the last status seizure

A series of focal seizures on the evening of October 1st that lasted for over 45 minutes

A string of words that fit well into his fiile

There's no way to depict the fear, the panic you feel when you go into the seizure and it doesn't stop

It started as always

An aura, the tingling that starts in his stomach and spreads through his entire body until it reaches his heart, his heartbeats becoming louder and louder as if an invisible hand squeezed the life out of him

But this one didn't end

45 minutes of feeling like you're unable to take a breath as the next wave hits you, the next seizures and it drags you down, down, down

45 minutes of feeling like you're suffocating

45 minutes of not knowing who you are or where you are

45 minutes of being overwhelmed with a horror there's no word for, a fear that makes your skin scrawl

45 minutes and your face transforms and contorts, your eyes grow wide, the rising sensation in your stomach again and again, you have no control, you can't get a hold of this situation, it's like walking on thick ice and begging for the water to melt and swallow you whole

45 minutes and you keep wandering the apartment

You cannot grasp this, understand this

You keep falling

 

He doesn't remember Josh asking him questions to assess the situation

He's never had a status focal seizure before and it's never been this long

They reached unknown territory, deep waters

Did they reach the end of what his body is able to endure?

Is this the end of suffering? Or merely the beginning?

Josh felt his tears dry on this cheeks

They're out to sea, tearing through the darkness

And he mans the ship all on his own

 

He doesn't remember the emergency medication, diazepam, twice

Tablets with the consistency of cotton wool, you need to be quick to peel them out of the blister pack

Josh apologizes as he stabilizes Tyler's head with one hand and pushes the tablets between his lips

He knows Tyler hates diazepam but it's this or the hospital

Finally, right after the second dosage the seizure stops and they're seeing land again

The seizure spits them out and they're part of the real world again

 

Tyler half-remembers the next day, October 2nd

Heavy limbs, foggy brain

Inability to speak coherently, to move

The brutality of the memory makes him close his eyes

It hurts, it physically hurts everything inside of him to know that Josh saw him like this, that he was there for him

Josh, who was hurting too, scared of another seizure 

Josh, whose hands he felt on his skin as he wiped his butt

He lay on his side, glad Josh couldn't see his face

Couldn't see the shame churning in his stomach

He wants to be Josh's boyfriend, someone Josh finds attractive

Instead he's reduced to incontinence

 

Josh, who rolled him on the open brief that he had spread on the bed

_No no no no no_

"Eeeeeeee...."

"I know Ty, I know"

Josh's voice like a blanket as he fits the brief between Tyler's legs and tugs it up gently

Tyler turns his head and looks at Josh with wide eyes, pleading to leave him here, leave him in a pool of his own piss

He's got a lot of practice 

 _I know, I know_ Josh's hands say

Hands in blue gloves but for the first time Tyler's not afraid

These hands are a lot more gentle and careful than the nurses at the hospital for whom he's just another patient

Hands that secured the brief's tapes, helped him back into his PJ pants, and tucked him in

Hands that hold him when there's nothing to say, when words aren't enough

"It's just a precaution should the seizures come back, okay?"

 

A precaution

Tyler goes to sleep that night and dreams about limbs wrapped in barricade tape

His body is unreliable, unsafe

He's a danger to himself, to others

He dreams about Josh standing in the distance

Saying nothing

 

He wants to remember the respect, the dignity Josh offers when there's nothing but self-hatred pulsing inside of Tyler

But in moments like this, when he returns to the memory and the dream 

He wonders if this is how Josh had pictured their relationship when they first met

Changing diapers

Existing from one breath to the next

 

"You haven't fully accepted your illness yet" his therapist responds when he tells her

About the shame that's flooding his consciousness

Piercing his soul, making it shatter

He's left with the pieces in his hands, knuckles still bloody

 

How can he ever accept this? Going from his usual self to _this_

 

When you're clinging to whatever is left of your dignity there's no room for acceptance

That comes later

When the storm in your brain is quiet again and you're your own wind now

Haunting the house

Wailing and moaning

 

He can't remember the life he had before

As time goes on

As his body is getting dragged through the mud

Forget getting comfortable when you're thrown into a life head-first and you keep stumbling against the frame of your body, the threshold that seperates the outside from the inside

Thought like bruises form inside your mind

He can't remember the body he's had before, it all fades into dust

Like the dust that collects on the trophies he won in basketball tournaments, the ones his mother still keeps in her house

He wonders if that says something, if it means anything at all

Is it supposed to symbolize his old life, a life that collects dust

Like a room no one's been in for a long time

A room you need to walk in carefully, it's grown a lot smaller since you've been here the last time

A room that whispers to you

A life you've outgrown

Or is it just dirt on a piece of silver

He can't remember

 

He wants to forget the look on people's faces as he boards the bus and makes his way to the priority seat for disabled people right at the front

He wants to forget the look on their faces, the way they quietly judge him, staring him up and down

He wants to forget the moment their faces change to embarrassment and pity

As they watch him struggle to put his disability card back into his wallet with shaky hands 

 

He wants to forget the many hours he spends lying on the couch or in bed

Crying with exhaustion from the lack of sleep, from the seizures, the medications

He wanted to force his body back into life, back into any kind of activity, anything else than sitting around and "brooding" like this therapist said

His therapist, a woman who spends her day sitting in her chair

Listening to other people sitting in chairs

Don't brood, don't sit around, she said, in her chair she paid with money she earned from sitting down

He wants to forget that he cried in response, the ugly crying you get when you realize that some things that are impossible to communicate

What it's like when body fails you and there's nothing you can do

What it's like having multiple seizures every month, sometimes every day

 

He wants to forget what it feels like to hear the bad news in his community, the world of refractory epilepsy

Someone dying of SUDEP at 21 years old

Someone having a grand mal seizure and their heart stops beating for 15 seconds

 

He wants to forget what it feels like

The constant throbbing inside his mind

_Will I be next?_

The constant pressure of having uncontrolled seizures

The pressure it puts on everything

On every single day

Because you never know when it's going to get bad again

You know you should celebrate life 

But how can you when are surrounded by death?

SUDEP lingering above your head like the sword of Damocles

Threatening to split you in half

 

These are things he can't talk about

But he can sing about them, he can scream them into a microphone

Something other than frantic googling at night when the fear consumes him

The fear of his epilepsy, the fear of this dark thing that sleeps deep inside him, this thing that he can't control

The fear of being sick and getting sicker and sicker and sicker, a merry-go-round

_I'm sick_

_This is how I'm sick_

_This is how sick I am_

_This is how sick I'm getting_

_Remember when I used to not be this sick_

There's no way of escaping this

Only sickness

The fear of not being able to trust your body anymore because the ground underneath your feet can open up anytime

Reducing your hope for a normal life to banality

"Your fear is a response, you're afraid of not becoming healthy again," his therapist says

It's a symptom of wanting something better for yourself

And for once, it's true

He can't imagine things getting better but he can't imagine them getting worse either

His view is peripheral - he's seeing to much or nothing at all

 

Something other than being consumed by fear, by our own nothingness, your own banality

The music takes him to a different place, a space without pain

In this space he can be someone else

 

His voice that's him and yet it's more than him

A voice that transcends his body, his sickness

He'll transform to something else

And the fear will transform, too

 

Tyler leans his cheek against his piano because that's all there is, the outside world and the thoughts inside, with nothing but dead wood in between

 

How do you carry something this heavy and still manage to touch everything around you?

 

Holding anything close when being alive feels like an unfamiliar taste in your mouth

Your face scrunches

You can't swallow and you can't spit it out either, these thoughts

 

He remembers Josh showing up in the living room in his parent's house

After his suicide attempt

When he tried to erase himself from this world but his body refused to go

He can still recall Josh's voice when he read him the Harry Potter books, all seven

Josh's voice, calming and warm, guiding him through the days

Making him stay

 

He needs to remember these moments

He records them

His basement tapes

 

Down there, in the basement

The sound of his bass guitar like the rumble of his lungs

His body taking deep breaths in

Josh's drums making the walls vibrate

An avalanche of memories

The microphone cracks and echoes

 

They listen to the tapes late at night, him and Josh

Music that was meant for this moment, meant for Josh only

The moment he starts singing Josh starts to drum a beat with his fingers

And for the first time, Tyler smiles

 

The only moment he can bear to hear the sound of his voice

It doesn't matter that it's slow and slurred

The only thing that matters is that it comes from below the ground

The only thing that matters is that he grabbed his light and reached down there

 

He goes back there, the basement

He's got to open a window

So that these memories can ghost away

This heavy dirty soul

 

His fingers rest on the notes, he can feel them inside

Something different than the frozen ground, the ground that threatens to swallow him whole

There's another soul in the soil and he imagines digging another hole

And this time the earth is soft and gives way

 

He opens himself up in this new space, this new place

A breeze comes rushing in 

And he can breathe again


End file.
